Paddling Among Giants
A fourth part of a mile off the west frontier of Maui, seated in the front of a two-person kayak, I glided across a vitreous sea, enjoying a Hawaiian prime of day. The sun had just peaked over the mountains above Lahaina, bathing the Appeasing in soft pink medium of vision. The islands of Lanai and Molokai floated on the horizon, their rutted virid hills luminous and bright.
A hushed voice behind me related, “Right about here is where the whales similar to hang out.”
I’d signed on for a tandem kayak hop with Richard Roshon. He’s been alluring visitors out for years to investigate the waters off Lahaina. From tardy November through May, when North Peace-making humpbacks gather off Maui, his outings proffer the possibility of spotting the behemoth whales shut up, from water level, in completed silence. That’s why I was here.
I’d seen whales from big boats before. I’d always assumed a boat’s impenetrable hull offered some refuge in the event that a wayward anchor-flake brushed against it, which I imagined was something allied King Kong accidentally brushing his knee against a domicile.
The idea of paddling among whales in something as puny as a kayak was frightening—and alluring. Even by whale standards, humpbacks are big. They’re the fifth-largest whale assemblage and can grow to 45 feet and raise up to 80,000 pounds. Richard’s Feathercraft kayak, by relative estimate, is 20 feet drawn out and weighs 100 pounds. Attention humpbacks from such a tiny talent sounded like the material of childhood dreams, primitive folk tales, archetypal myths.
I met Richard in his Lahaina hall a few blocks from the water. “I always allied to introduce myself and talk about the kayak at least a day before we noddle out,” he explained, “and I absence everyone to make sure this is the straight trip for them.”
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